Hospitals Of Hope

In February, I abandoned my comfortable existence as a fourth year medical student in North Carolina, and traveled to Bolivia, South America for a short term mission trip.  Feelings of uncertainty, the language barrier, and cultural differences were all sources of anxiety for me. Simply not knowing what was ahead made me feel a bit nervous. However, as I stepped off of the plane into their world, my anxiety quickly dissolved into a deep compassion for the Bolivian people.

Bolivia is a land-locked country, about three times the size of the state of Montana. My destination city, Cochabamba, rests approximately 8,500 feet above sea level with a population of eight million people. The majority speak Spanish and Quechua, a native tongue.

In Bolivia, 58 percent of the population lives in poverty. Compounding this problem is the large population of homeless street children. Children, as young as three years of age, work in the higher elevations during the harvest and live in the streets of Cochabamba in the winter months when the warm temperatures make it a more comfortable place to live. The social, medical, and educational disparities are overwhelming.

Hospitals of Hope, a Christian organization, based in Wichita, Kansas, coordinates the short mission trips and operates the hospital in Cochabamba. The hospital is divided into seven exam rooms, a dental office, the only emergency department in Bolivia, a neonatal intensive care unit, two operating rooms, a laboratory, and a pharmacy. Most days I spent working alongside a Bolivian physician, Dra. Maribel Santa Cruz. We commonly saw cases of parasites, fungal infections and tuberculosis.

On my third day I was feeling very sad. A 46-year-old woman came to the clinic for continuous vaginal bleeding that she had been experiencing for months. Upon examination, her cervix was black, and appeared as if it was scarred down and scabbed over. Just the smallest touch with a piece of gauze caused a stream of blood to emerge from the cervix. Grey flesh had adhered to surface of the gauze. She had advanced cervical cancer— no pap needed as it could be seen with the naked eye. Her last pap smear had only been a short four years ago. It’s hard to believe how rapidly this disease progresses. It brought tears to my eyes as I watched her get dressed and thought of how preventable this disease is.

As my time in Bolivia passes, I am amazed at the kindness of the Bolivians. As I butcher their language in an attempt to communicate, they smile and provide gentle correction. I didn’t think Americans would be welcomed here providing medical care; however, just the opposite was true. The Bolivians were in awe that an American would even come to their country. These people are amazed by American doctors and are begging for help. They cry out, clutch your arm, and look into your eyes pleading for any type of medical assistance. They are starved for attention to their needs.

This is progress in Bolivia because they do not generally seek medical attention right away. When struck with illness, the Bolivians drink a specially-formulated tea brewed specifically for the ailment. If they do not get well from the tea, then a witch doctor is sought after. If there is still no healing, they will then visit a Bolivian doctor.

The culture believes the earth has healing properties. Some of these beliefs can be lethal to patients. One young boy, six or seven years old, was injured, with a compound fracture of his leg, resulting in a large, open wound. His parents took him to a Bolivian healer, who advised them to rub manure into the wound. The parents complied with the doctor’s advice and shortly after, the boy became septic. The boy was near death when a neighbor suggested the parents take him to Hospitals of Hope. After resetting his leg and administering intravenous antibiotics, the child recovered. Just for the Bolivians to come to Hospitals of Hope is a feat. As I prepare to leave this country, I have an internal struggle.

A large part of me would like to stay because I feel as if I have really made a difference in these people’s lives. Whether it was showing love by playing with children at an orphanage, bathing homeless kids and giving them food to eat and new clothes to wear, or providing medical guidance at the clinic, I feel I finally have done what I set out to do in medicine—to truly help people with whatever they may need. I don’t want to go back to my stressful life of juggling too many activities and worrying about the latest style or the hottest television show. These things seem meaningless now.

Life is so simple in Bolivia. The children smile when someone notices them and blows a few bubbles their way. Helping people who are grateful has a different feel inside. These people are desperate for help and actually want to be helped. We didn’t have to go through loads of bureaucracy to get things done. You have an idea and you do it. Things get done without hours of talk. The trip to Bolivia opened my eyes to what it means to truly serve others. Place all agendasaside, get dirty, and do what needs to be done. Helping others is what we, as physicians, take an oath to do. I don’t want to live this life once every year for a couple of weeks. I need to find people who are in real need of help and carry out my mission year round no matter where I live.

This story, by Caroline Morgan, MD, was originally published in the East Carolina Generalist in 2006.

Read more stories about our work in Bolivia.